


Long-Term Sub, or Mr. Tozier's Tips to Not Suck at Teaching

by micki914



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Coming Out, Eddie is a lapsed Catholic, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Richie Tozier, Richie is half-Jewish, Slow Burn, Teacher AU, Teaching is hard, because writing good sex scenes requires actual talent, but it won't be 'graphic', but it won't be super explicit, cw: eventual physical violence in one chapter, cw: mentions of abuse, occasional eddie POV, road trip buddies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:47:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25498570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micki914/pseuds/micki914
Summary: Richie Tozier is a closeted English and theatre teacher who has been fighting a war of attrition with burnout. Eddie Kaspbrak is a first-year math teacher who recently moved from New York City, leaving his wife and his old career as a Wall Street financial analyst.After they discover they're from the same small town, though, Richie and Eddie slowly realize they have a few more things in common…
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 35





	1. Late August

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter has a LOT of exposition, so bear with me!

It was all a big circle.

The school, that is. He kept walking, and hallway after hallway, door after door, looked the same.

He finally made it to the cafeteria.

It was empty, its high ceilings forming a gaping hole in space, a void filled by the crushing white noise of the HVAC system overhead.

Tied to every chair at every table was a red balloon. They all floated, unmoving.

A voice formed in his head. _You're too late. You missed it_ , it said.

Wait, isn't there more? There's gotta be more.

_No. No, Richie. This is it._

It can't be.

The balloons began popping, but, absurdly enough, they made no noise. They just — disappeared.

Right before the last balloon popped, he jerked awake.

~ 🍐~

Though his eyes were still closed, he realized immediately that it was _way_ too bright outside. He groaned slowly, like a plane taking off, and hoisted himself out of bed.

It was Richie Tozier's first day of school, and he was already running late.

While one half of his brain dealt with the machinations of getting dressed and packing a lunch — he dumped leftover pasta into a Tupperware — the other half of his brain was already thinking of excuses. _Lotsa traffic this morning, huh?_

While impatiently waiting for the elevator to take him down to the apartment lobby, he caught a glance of himself in the full-length mirror. One temple of his glasses was broken in half and held together with scotch tape. His pants had a tiny hole just above the right knee. His hair was really just... _awful_.

But fuck it. It was teacher “professional” week. It's not like the students were going to be there.

Too many minutes later, he was sprinting across the pavement to the grand front entrance of Pear Grove High School. He practically body slammed the metal push handle in the center of the door, stumbling inside. A blast of cold air met him in the entrance, but quickly dissipated as he walked further into the building. 

No one else was around, probably because they were all in the cafeteria, on time for the staff meeting that was supposed to have started ten minutes ago. The only sound Richie heard was his own footsteps and heavy breathing, which echoed off the high ceilings and empty walls of white cinderblock.

Since the cafeteria was on the other side of the school (of course, how convenient), Richie had time to think about how weird it was to walk into the building in the summer. It felt so empty. Like the building itself was hibernating, not yet roaring to life with chatty teens and frazzled teachers and the janitors with their squeaky-wheeled mop buckets.

But soon the romanticizing ran out of steam, and his good ol’ internal monologue took over. It sounded something like, "Shit, shit, shit, I can't believe I'm late, on the first day too, how am I screwing up this badly, oh right, it's because I'm…"

"Richie Tozier!"

Richie stopped walking. He felt himself break into a grin. When he turned around, he saw Beverly Marsh, bless her, sailing towards him.

Bev — with her brazen red hair and ubiquitous wardrobe of floral print — always made him feel more energized. She was Madonna’s “Ray of Light” in human form. She was one of his best friends.

And, best of all, she was also running late.

"Oh, thank _fuck_ ," he said, projecting his voice down the hallway. She caught up to him and they started power walking together toward the cafeteria. "I am so glad I'm not the only one who's late."

Bev laughed. "Don’t do a victory lap yet, trashmouth. I just really had to pee so I ducked out because Criss is still blabbering on.” She blew a raspberry.

“Very ladylike.”

“Oh, shut it. I actually got here half an hour early.”

"Oh god, _really_? Why?"

"Meeting with Jen," she said, referring to Pear Grove's choir teacher. "We're gonna try to do a real musical this year, right?"

"Oh right, yeah…"

Richie and Bev were both hired at Pear Grove five years ago, him to teach English and theatre, and her to teach art. Since then, they had also tried to revitalize PG’s theatre program, with Bev as the artistic director and Richie as the guy trying to make the students memorize their fucking lines.

And man, did they have their work cut out for them. Pear Grove’s previous theatre teacher had been approximately 400 years old when she retired, with a matching taste in plays. (I mean, Richie didn't hate Shakespeare, but he'd rather fall on a sword than force a bunch of teenagers through a production of _King Lear_.) As a result, like the characters in her beloved Elizabethan-era tragedies, students had dropped out of the theatre program one by one until there was nothing left but an empty stage.

So he and Bev had started small, because there was nowhere else to start from. And they seemed to be making progress, but then three years ago they ran out of money for the spring show and ended up doing some “avant-garde” production where the kids all dressed in black and talked about their _feelings_. 

The show wasn't as bad as it could have been, but then afterwards, Victor Criss, one of the assistant principals, used it as an excuse to cut a good chunk of the theatre allotment from the school’s budget. "I know you're not, uh, 'numbers people,’" he had said, giving them a simpering, apologetic smile, “and it's not like every play has to be a big production.”

Bev had punched a dress form after _that_ particular meeting.

But last spring, after stumbling through another school year of two lukewarm, obscure plays, Bev was determined to go nuclear. She had this idea that if they could put all their money towards one big musical in the spring, and do a really good job — just fucking knock the _socks_ off everyone — they could convince Criss to give them a proper budget. Or at least convince Principal Ripsom to go over his head and do it.

Richie highly doubted it would work, but he didn't want Bev to punch him, too. So he'd said ‘okay, sure, I guess,’ and forgot about it by the end of June.

“You didn’t just forget about our big plan by the end of June, did you?” Bev asked suspiciously.

“Of course not. You never told me about this meeting, by the way.”

“Because you would have said it was too early in the year and there would be no point.”

“And would I have been right?” he asked, as dramatically smug as he could manage while power walking.

Bev rolled her eyes. “We’ll talk more later,” she said. They were now approaching the cafeteria, and Richie could hear Criss's droning voice.

They stopped right at the entrance, waiting, as one does in the theatre, for a scene change.

The scene before them was familiar, a crowd of cafeteria tables filled not with teenagers, but with adults in flip flops and pearls, school t-shirts and freshly-dyed roots. Educators. Richie's colleagues and, luckily for him, his friends.

He didn't have to scan the crowd long before finding Bev's husband, art and technology education teacher Ben Hanscom, who had already spotted them and gave a friendly wave when they made eye contact. From beside him, Richie heard Bev whisper "hi" and wave back.

Yeah, Richie talked a good game about Bev being his BFF, but she and Ben were truly each other’s “Ray of Light.” They loved each other so honestly and truly that Richie would find it sickening if he didn’t respect both of them so much. They were honest-to-God childhood sweethearts. Like, they had actually gone to _prom_ together. Apparently, Ben had asked Bev to the dance in front of everyone in their advanced studio art class. If this had happened in an era when students had smartphones, it definitely would have gone viral. But, for better or for worse, all they had was a photo, taken by a proactive student photographer mere minutes after Bev had said yes. A framed copy lived on each of their desks. 

Even an old cynic like Richie had to admit it was the cutest fairy-tale shit ever.

However, they were admittedly a bit of an odd couple. While Bev had a reputation as a rebel, Ben was suspiciously, well, _normal_ for an arts teacher. He wasn't a model, or a kooky Hogwarts professor, or that _Stand and Deliver_ guy. He was just a regular dude. But Ben really connected with the weird kids, the loners — truly empathized with them. And they were drawn to him and his carpentry and 3D art classes like greasy, teenage moths to a flame.

Basically, Ben and Bev were PG's power couple, and they double-handedly held up the reputation of the Fine & Practical Arts department.

Criss finally ended his presentation about the school district's academic achievement improvement plan. While the next presentation slides loaded, Richie and Bev scooted into the room and towards their table of friends.

Although Richie had been feeling like crap the whole morning, the sight of them lifted his heart. Like the kids they taught, he and his teacher friends never saw each other as much as they intended to over the summer. He’d almost forgotten how much his heart lifted at seeing them again.

Richie gave them his traditional greeting of “What up, nerds?” as Bev slid deftly into the seat next to her husband. Ben’s other side was occupied by school librarian Mike Hanlon and Richie’s fellow English teacher Bill Denbrough, who stood up at Richie’s approach.

"Hey hey, Mr. English Department Head!" Richie gave Bill a full-armed hug.

"Nice to see you too, Rich," said Bill warmly. “You doing okay?”

Richie had totally forgotten that he was now, uh, 15 minutes late? He stumbled through the ‘traffic’ excuse, but Bill shrugged and said it was fine. Good thing, too, since Bill was now technically his supervisor.

Bill had been Richie's introduction to Pear Grove High School. In fact, Bill was an alum and a former student teacher, so even though he had been hired only a few months before Richie, he was already an expert. Case in point: After his interview at Pear Grove, Richie had been marched directly to Bill’s classroom. Said room contained so many half-unpacked boxes of books that Richie hadn't realized at first that Bill was even there. They chatted a bit, and, although Richie hadn't known at the time, his interview had still been in progress. Months later, Bill had confessed that he’d been asked what he thought of Richie afterwards. Apparently, his exact words were: "He seems conscientious when it matters, and chill when it doesn't."

It was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever said about him. And typical of Bill's eloquence. Bill _loved_ literature, and he was the only teacher in the school who could lecture for the whole class period and the kids wouldn't get bored. Obviously, Bill taught AP English Literature, and, even more obviously, was tapped to lead the English department after Mrs. King retired last spring.

In fact, Bill was only outclassed in his book-nerdiness by Mike, who Richie ended up next to when he finally sat down.

As a black male educator — and a librarian, no less — Mike was something of a unicorn, and so was always being volunteered for PR-type events and to "mentor at-risk students." Luckily, he actually liked doing that last one, and Richie knew firsthand that some only made it through the school year because of Mr. Hanlon's gentle persistence. 

Actually, Richie could probably count himself as one of those people. In their first year at the school, one dreary November day, Mike had walked by Richie's classroom to find him crying — actual, literal tears — at his desk.

At first, Richie's shame was compounded by being discovered. But Mike sat there and, with no judgment, listened to the story of Richie's absolute shit-balls day. 

Mike then informed him that any teacher who _didn't_ cry at least once a year due to frustration was either a sociopath or didn't take their job seriously enough.

Richie had sniffled and rubbed his stuffed-up nose. "Now _that_ would've been useful info at the new teacher orientation."

Mike had laughed, a rare occurrence that Richie appreciated more in hindsight. But really, the real prize was when he could crack a smile out of —

"Wait,” said Richie in a stage whisper. The superintendent's welcome video had just started, and cheesy intro music was playing on a screen in front of them. “Where's Stan?"

"He's over with some of the other math teachers," said Bill, dutifully keeping his eyes on the video.

Richie leaned dangerously far back in his chair to look around the room, but there were too many people blocking his vision.

"Wow, so Stan's just abandoning us? Rude."

Bill had no sympathy. "Get used to it. He's going to be gone for the first six weeks of spring semester."

Admittedly, this was true. Stan's wife Patty was pregnant, and he was going to take advantage of the district's relatively generous paternity leave starting in January.

Richie had known Stan in college. And by 'known,' Richie meant that he had met Stan at a Hillel mixer once, then friended him on Facebook, spawning that weird, continual pseudo-acquaintance brought about by social media. A few years later, when Richie had been in New York City, balls deep in mediocre stand-up gigs and failed auditions, Stan had offered him a lifeline. The school that had just hired Stan also needed a theatre teacher, and fast. Knowing Richie had some kind of performing experience, Stan had messaged him and asked if Richie wanted to get hired on a 'probationary' basis while he worked towards teacher certification. (Apparently, that was a thing.) All he would have to do was agree to teach one section of theatre and four sections of English. Richie was like ‘fuck it, sure.’ Just jumping in like that would be weird, but he'd be fine.

Oh, what a sweet, ignorant baby-man he had been. Like the Little Mermaid in the sea witch’s lair, signing his fucking life away. Richie even lost his voice — and his legs, sort of, from standing up all day. You know, this metaphor was a lot better than he thought. He could definitely turn that into a bit. 

Well, if he still did stand-up.

The video finally ended. It was stopped three seconds before it ended, while the outro music played. Like it was an old dog being put out of its misery.

Now, thankfully, they were finally at the last agenda item: the principal’s speech.

Principal Betty Ripsom was the living embodiment of an exclamation point. Towering over the crowd at 6'1" (including her 3" heels), she was “energized” and “passionate” and all of those other resume-building words. Richie would have added “needs to drink less coffee” to the list.

"HELLO, everyone!” Ripsom announced to the crowd. “I hope you've enjoyed your summers. I am SO proud to be starting my fifth year as principal here at Pear Grove, and SO happy to work with such an excellent group of educators. I know you're all SO excited to get into your classrooms and get to work. I just have a few quick announcements.” She gave the crowd a dazzling smile, then plucked her designer glasses — bright green, for school spirit — off her head to read from her phone.

"Okay, according to this email I just received this morning, the order of replacement SMART Boards will arrive by Wednesday.” Pause. “Now taking bets on when they will _actually_ arrive.” Scattered laughter. She was good with a crowd, Richie could give her that. 

“And our _amazing_ PTA is taking donations at the back table by the coffee and bagels,” she added, and gestured to a pair of moms, who Princess-Diana waved to the crowd. Ripsom cheerily waved back. 

She then talked about the welcome packets. Richie had learned not to pay attention to every single thing, because otherwise he’d just get overwhelmed. Everything he really needed to know he could _read in the welcome packet_ anyway.

“Now, as our final agenda item,” Ripsom said, drawing out the word ‘final’ like a game show host, “I wanted to introduce our new staff members. We have a number of new staff this year, so I’d like all of our Pear Grove newbies to come on up to the front and introduce yourselves.”

Amidst scattered clapping, the ‘Pear Grove newbies’ eventually wandered up to the front of the cafeteria. Ripsom briefly turned around to check that they were all there, lined up like awkward freshmen, then began talking again. 

"Aaaaalright, thank you! Now, I'd like each new staff member to introduce themselves. Please say your name, your position, your mentor teacher, and a fun fact about yourself."

"They didn't make us do this when _we_ were new," Richie muttered. No response. Oh, well.

Ripsom practically tossed the microphone to the nearest newbie. "Okay! Why don't you go first?"

Richie was pretty far from the front, but even from here, he could tell that the first guy had a distinct deer-in-the-headlights look about him. Also, he was wearing a whole-ass suit jacket and tie. Was he a new admin or something? I mean, sure, it was the first day of school, but Richie didn't even dress up that nicely for Back to School Night.

"Um, hello," the man said, the microphone squeaking briefly with feedback — _don't put your mouth so close to it, doofus_ , Richie thought. 

"My name is Edward Kaspbrak. But, uh, everyone calls me Eddie," he quickly added. "I'll be teaching the new AP Statistics class. Uh, Stan Uris is my mentor teacher, and I'm also going to be his long-term substitute when he goes on paternity leave.”

Huh. This was a little unorthodox. Usually long-term subs were retired teachers. And this guy was _not_ old, probably around Richie’s own age, but this guy must be something if he's getting an AP class right off the bat.

Mr. Long-Term Sub was about to hand over the mic when Ripsom leaned in and whispered something to him.

"Oh, right — my fun fact." He paused. “I, uh, actually used to be a financial risk analyst in New York City. But," he said, taking a breath, "I realized I needed a change, and I wanted to do something worthwhile, give back to the community."

Well, God bless you, Mr. Rosewater. Richie rolled his eyes so far back he felt it in his eyeball tendons. 

But a couple whoops echoed from the crowd, along with scattered clapping. This only seemed to make the guy more nervous, though. 

He continued awkwardly. “So yeah, this will be my first year teaching. Looking forward to it. Uh, thanks,” he finished breathily into the microphone, before handing it over like a hot potato to the next newbie.

The other new staff talked about themselves, but Richie didn’t really focus or care.

Like, look — Stan Uris had a difficult schedule. 

First, he taught two periods of seniors who were rounding out their lackluster math career by taking something called "quantitative literacy."

_Mr. Tozier's Teacher Tip #1: The fancier the class name, the more bullshit it is._

Though Stan tried to make it as un-bullshitty as possible for them, teaching them about useful stuff like interest rates and credit cards — well, let's just say the market was volatile.

But if that wasn't hard enough, because Stan also spoke fluent Spanish, they gave him the algebra classes with all the ESOL students, who ranged from math whizzes — less hindered by language barriers because the class was mostly numbers — to recent immigrants with little to no formal education, period.

It was quite the balancing act, to put it mildly, but luckily Stan was a natural acrobat. Richie remembered the first time he walked by Stan's classroom. _This_ fucking guy — who looked like he was only a decade past his bar mitzvah — was calmly admonishing a student in rapid Spanish. “Teléfono EN la mochila, ahora por favor, y no quiero verlo hasta fiNALdelaclase, estoytraTANdodeenseñAR— _"_

Like a rubbernecker on a highway, Richie had swiveled around in surprise and kept listening, even as his legs walked him further down the hall.

But despite his tough-guy exterior, Stan was well-loved. The ESOL kids showered him with exotic treats around the holidays. One of the quant. lit. kids even got a tattoo of Stan's name after he wrote him a positive character witness letter for juvie court (ruling: not guilty).

So, yeah, it was no surprise that Stan was tapped as a mentor. But Richie wouldn't trade his teaching schedule for Stan's in a million years, and not just 'cause he sucked at math. And now they were trusting Stan’s job for six weeks AND an AP class to some fucking first-year career changer? It was like air-dropping an 18-year-old former chess club president into Saigon.

Though, honestly, they _did_ do that. In Saigon. And to Richie.

After all the newbies introduced themselves and returned to their seats, Ripsom had officially ended the meeting, so they had about 20 minutes to finish eating their PTA-catered breakfast before department meetings began. 

Richie hadn’t had a chance to snag a bagel because he arrived late, and he was about to remedy that when he saw Stan defecting back to their table. He decided to wait.

Richie confronted Stan as soon as he was within earshot. 

"So, Mr. Wall Street's going to be your sub? He's gonna get eaten alive."

Stan, who hadn't even had time to sit down, gave Richie the half-lidded stare he usually reserved for students. "He'll be fine. He'll be prepared by the time I leave."

"No offense to your mentoring capabilities, Staniel, but seriously," said Richie, "you're going to come back and there will be nothing left but a bloodstained tie."

He heard Bev snort from two seats away. 

"Be nice, Rich," said Bill.

"He's lucky to have you as a mentor," said Mike.

Stan just shrugged good-naturedly, but then hummed and said, "Actually, I'll be right back..." and got up from the table.

“If you’re going to get a bagel, get me one, will ya?” Richie shouted after him.

He chuckled, then raised one eyebrow and addressed the table. "That man needs to, like, sit down. Is he practicing his pacing for the delivery room or something?"

"Oh, guys, that reminds me," said Bev, pounding her fist on the table excitedly. "Make sure to leave the second weekend of October open for Patty's baby shower."

"Don't only women go to those?" said Bill.

"That's _bridal_ showers," said Bev.

"Yeah, it takes a man and a woman to make a baby, so no reason to exclude a whole gender," Mike added.

"But it takes both for a wedding, too…?" said Ben.

"Not always," said Richie.

Richie looked away right after he said that, but he knew they were eyeing him.

So, yeah, Richie was gay. But not officially 'out' or whatever. At least, not to Pear Grove. But it's not like it was a big deal or anything. It's not like he was dating anyone. Or had. In the past...four years?

Anyway, the only reason the Losers knew was because Richie had let his guard down at Bill and Audra's holiday party last year. He hadn’t even been drinking, just stupidly complacent with all the fucking merriment and jollity and shit. Sitting in one of the Denbroughs' overstuffed armchairs, he had accidentally admitted that the guy in the Red Sox-themed ugly Christmas sweater was someone he'd 'go to third base with' any day.

Turned out ugly-sweater-guy was Bill's _brother_ , who was not only completely straight but also overheard the whole thing.

It was understood that no one brought it up.

After the party, both Ben and Bev had sat down and talked with Richie, and basically encouraged him to come out. Richie always suspected that, on Bev's part, it was a thin veneer over an auntie-like desire for him to find a nice man and settle down. For Ben, though, he was probably just being nice and supportive as usual.

"It's very homophobic for you all to keep staring at me like this, by the way," said Richie, rolling his eyes. "Didn't you watch that training video on LGBTQ issues?"

"I did," said Ben.

"It doesn't count if you just have it going in the background while you play Minecraft, _Benjamin_."

Unfortunately, that comment came out a lot more bitter than Richie had intended. So they just continued to stare at him. Bev muttered a quiet "hey now."

Usually Stan would have been the one to make a quip back at Richie, to reel him in. But he wasn't there. And he wouldn’t be for six weeks.

How were they going to survive without him?

Richie sighed. “Sorry, man, I didn’t mean it like that," he said to Ben, sincerely this time. "I need to rewatch the workplace bullying video, I guess.”

They all chuckled softly, even Ben, who reached over and fist bumped him as an acceptance of his apology. Balance was restored. Sort of.

Bill took the lead in trying to restart the conversation. "For the record, I actually do watch all those training videos," said Bill.

"Bill," said Richie lovingly, "you are actually a narc." Bill smiled back.

"You know, I'd rather work for a district that has those videos than one that doesn't have them," said Mike.

They all nodded. Mike, as usual, had a point. And Richie supposed he should count himself lucky. I mean, it's not like it would be particularly unsafe to come out. Pear Grove was in an unambiguously liberal suburb in a slightly more ambiguously liberal county of upstate New York, a blue square in a sea of red. There was already an out lesbian at the school. And there was even an officially sanctioned Pride parade downtown last June, a mere four blocks from his apartment.

So why didn't Richie come out? He supposed he found it easier to not think about it too much, to compartmentalize it. It didn't make any difference to his teaching, so why did it matter?

Finally Stan came back, with his new mentee in tow.

"Everyone, this is Eddie."

Up close, Richie could size up this Eddie Kapsbrak more effectively. His dark hair had a hint of gel. The lines on his face indicated he spent most of his time frowning or incredulous, probably at Uber drivers or baristas. In other words, he was still just as buttoned up as you would expect from an ex-Manhattanite. 

Richie unleashed his first crack. “You do realize wearing a tie is above your pay grade now, right?”

"Richie!" Bev chided, but this Eddie guy looked unfazed.

“It's okay. I don't mind being shaded by some clown.”

“Clown?”

“Yeah, the class clown. I know your type. What're you, the drama teacher?”

This elicited an excited “Ohhhhh!” from the table.

Richie gave Eddie a crooked grin. "You know what? I respect that. Guilty as charged." He leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head. "And it's _theatre_ teacher, actually. Just because we like drama doesn't mean it has to be our namesake."

A slightly smaller “ooooooh” this time, and a "tell 'em, Rich" from Bill.

_Mr. Tozier’s Teacher Tip #2: Being around high schoolers seven hours a day rubs off on you._

"Alright, alright, enough," said Stan, already practicing his dad voice. He took a seat and motioned for Eddie to take the chair he'd pulled from another table. "I know it seems hard to believe, but these are my friends." 

Stan then took the mini paper plate with a bagel on it and slid it over to Richie. 

“Here you go,” Stan sighed, a smile twitching at his lips.

Richie lit up. “Staaaan, you’re the best. And you even got two cream cheeses!”

“I know you don’t eat bagels without it.”

Richie popped open one of the containers. “Nobody should. Actually, my man here,” he said, gesturing to Eddie, who quickly looked up at him, “ _he_ knows what I’m talking about. That’s a nice schmear.”

Eddie had carried his plate over from where he had been, presumably, sitting with the other math teachers. On it was a whole grain bagel with the thickest, most carefully crafted spread of cream cheese Richie had ever seen.

Eddie didn’t really seem to take the compliment, just shrugging. “Yeah, it's not from a real deli, but it'll do.”

“Oh, so you’re one of those snobby-about-their-delis New Yorkers?” prodded Richie.

“I’m sorry,” said Eddie, in a tone that indicated he was not sorry in slightest, “I thought everyone already knew that New York delis are indisputably better than everything else.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” grinned Richie, who was also far from sorry, “that this small, backwater city has such inferior bagels to your native land.”

They stared at each other, paused in their duel.

“Uh, there's a solid kosher deli about 10 minutes down the road," said Stan. “I think the owner’s actually from Brooklyn, if you’re missing home.”

Eddie broke eye contact first to answer him. Richie still counted it as a win.

“Cool. I’ll check it out,” said Eddie. “Though, to be honest, I'm actually not from New York City. Just lived there for…”

For a guy who was presumably good at math, Eddie looked like calculating this number was causing him pain. But in a flash it was gone, replaced with a strained smile. "...too long."

Bev, who sat on Eddie’s other side, smiled kindly at him. "I was about to say — why not stay in the city?" asked Bev.

"Yeah, I wanted a change of pace," Eddie said, a little too quickly, almost to the point of rudeness. "And I heard this district is very data-driven."

Bill smiled wryly and sipped his coffee. "You got that right."

“And here, the city’s not too overwhelming. You don’t have to break your neck to see the sky,” Eddie added.

_You don’t have to break your neck to see the sky._

Richie was so startled at the unexpected poetry that he momentarily forgot to be a wisecrack. He just nodded sagely and murmured “Yeah.”

Eddie caught his eye, but then looked back down at his bagel.

After more curious inquiries, Eddie told the Losers the abridged story of his career switch. Apparently, he took some of his savings — presumably from his lucrative previous career — and did a one-year teacher certification program in the city, then got the job at Pear Grove, and moved here about a month ago.

“Wow,” said Ben appreciatively.

‘Wow’ was right — Eddie really was fresh meat. And it turned out that it was mostly luck that he got to teach an AP class. As Stan explained, another math teacher was going to do it, but he decided to retire instead. And since AP classes make the school look good, they didn't want to just cut it. Enter Eddie Kaspbrak, stats expert and newly minted teacher, willing to work part-time to get his foot in the door.

“So how many sections of AP Stat are you teaching?” Mike asked.

“Uh, just one. It’s the first year they’re offering it,” Eddie explained, “right?”

Stan nodded. “That’s how he has room to sub for me. When I’m gone, Eddie will take four of my classes and Roberta will take the other.”

"And in the meantime I'll be working as a paraeducator in some of the other math classes, or a last-minute sub for other teachers,” said Eddie. He fiddled with the edge of his paper plate. "So I'm going to do other stuff besides teach one class.”

"Oh, we didn't doubt that, hon,” Bev laughed, her earrings swaying as she shook her head. “There are infinite ways to make oneself useful here.”

"Yeah, this is a public school: we'd grab people off the _street_ to help make copies if that wasn't illegal," said Bill.

"True that," Ben nodded.

Mike frowned. “Makes sense, but still…that's a bit unorthodox.”

A bit cushy, more like — Eddie had only one class to actually teach and plan for, at least until January. But Richie didn’t say this out loud.

In fact, to his surprise, he actually said something, like, the opposite of that. Something _nice_ , like one part of his brain was pushing the other aside and saying ‘let me handle this.’

“We're just jealous because you get to have Stan as your mentor,” he said, smiling and patting Stan on the shoulder. “He's the best math teacher in the school.”

“Yeah, he's already been very helpful,” Eddie said. His mouth turned upwards just a bit. Not quite a real smile, but it was close.

“We’re doing collaborative planning for the algebra classes,” Stan said. “And he’s going to observe my classes twice a week so the students can get to know him before I leave.”

A joke flowed seamlessly from Richie's brain to his mouth. “You know what, Eddie?” he said, pausing for effect. “It sounds like you have no choice but to Stan.”

The Losers groaned at his pun, Bill outright booing.

But Eddie cracked a wide grin — a true smile, a bright burst that lit up his face like a sunrise. 

_Shit. Those dimples could be seen from outer space._

"Wow, good crowd," Richie deadpanned, surprised but unable to hide a smile of his own.

Not a minute later, Ripsom reminded the crowd of chatting teachers that they had ten minutes before department meetings started. Bill cursed suddenly and scooted off like a small wild animal, and the rest of the table started getting up to leave.

Richie suddenly remembered that, yes, he was at work and had to go ‘do his job’ or whatever now. The air had changed. Or his breathing had. 

He felt like just _saying_ something was inadequate, somehow.

As Eddie got up, Richie did too. As Eddie straightened his tie, Richie did something so out of character he was surprised none of his friends made fun of him for it: he stuck out his hand towards Eddie. 

Eddie shook it, firmly.

“Nice to meet you, man,” Richie said.

“You too.”

“Still can't believe you laughed at my lame Stan joke.”

"Ha! It caught me off guard," said Eddie.

"So did you," said Richie.

Eddie gave him a quick, querulous look, but Richie recovered quickly and removed his hand from Eddie’s. "Well, see, usually nobody _dares_ to go toe to toe with me," he said.

Eddie’s eyebrow twitched. "I'm not just a pretty face," he cracked, tilting his head.

At that, Bev laughed and patted Richie on the back as she walked off.

"Yeah, well,” Richie blustered, addressing Eddie one last time as they walked away from each other, “we'll see what your comebacks sound like by the time DEVOLSON rolls around."

"De-what?" Eddie said.

Richie chuckled. "You'll see."

 **~** 🍐 **~**

He ran into Stan again, as one does, in the first-floor copy room later that afternoon. Richie worked his way through the normal topics of conversation — planning, schedules, Patty’s pregnancy — before he asked about Eddie.

Richie casually leaned against the copier, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the mechanical whirs and chunks of the machine. "So how's Mr. Wall Street adjusting so far?"

He didn't know why he didn't just use Eddie's name. Maybe he didn't want to sound too invested. That would be weird.

Stan said Eddie was doing fine, though Stan would be the last person to gossip about someone if they weren't cutting it.

“Actually,” added Stan. He tapped a stack of papers against the machine to align them. “Eddie wasn't nearly that talkative when I first spoke to him a few weeks ago."

"Maybe he's just gearing up for the start of school?" Richie offered, his voice rising at the end of the sentence.

"I suppose.” A long pause. Stan glanced at Richie, then at the stack of papers tucked in his arms. “But also, I think Eddie had a rough time before moving here. I figured he could use a good group like us." Stan said this in a very matter-of-fact manner, like he was recommending a retirement plan.

"Oh, Stan," said Richie, "you're a beautiful sunflower, too good for this world."

Stan barely cracked a smile and rolled his eyes. “See you around, Richie.”

Even after that conversation, Richie couldn't shake thoughts of Eddie Kaspbrak.

It didn't make sense. God knows he had enough to do during teacher professional week. Usually Richie's mind — especially the week before school started — was a never-ending to-do list that always ended with a third of the tasks evaporating like mist or being pushed into the nebulous world of "maybe later."

But Richie was a naturally curious person. It was out of curiosity that he asked the secretary for a list of room assignments for the math department. And it was out of curiosity that, when he saw Eddie had signed up for a girls' lacrosse game in March for the required chaperone duty, Richie signed his own name in the other slot. It would give him a chance to figure out what Eddie's deal was — if he even lasted that long. The dude may not be a science teacher, but he definitely had some skeletons in his closet.

Richie winced internally. Not even an off-guard Eddie Kaspbrak would have laughed at that one.


	2. Early September

People always talk a good game about the First Day of School, but for high school teachers, the real magic starts happening on the day of freshman orientation. That’s when you get the first real taste of what the kids — and therefore, the school year — will be like. 

At Pear Grove, freshman orientation happens a few days before the 'real' first day of school, and is basically a whole morning dedicated to bringing the ninth-graders in for a test drive. The kicker? The normal bell schedule is condensed into a few hours in the morning, like someone’s fast-forwarding through the school day at five times the normal speed. Freshmen rush breathlessly from class to class, and each teacher has just enough time to introduce themselves and talk about supplies before the bell would ring, and the whole process would repeat until the end of Period 8, and then the school buses would whisk the kids away just as suddenly as they came.

Luckily, Richie only experienced a small part of this chaos firsthand. This year, he would _maybe_ see a couple freshmen in Period 6, his Theatre I class, but otherwise he had nothing to do.

He had the whole morning, therefore, to prep, to be productive.

He booted up the desktop. The dozens of tabs he'd left open from yesterday popped up automatically, the multitude of swirling circles all trying to load at once.

Richie sighed deeply. He took his glasses off and polished them on the edge of his shirt.

You know what? 

He didn't _have_ to do anything, or even be in his classroom, until Period 6. So maybe he'd take this rare opportunity to stretch his legs. Who knows — maybe he’d run into Eddie Kaspbrak. 

~🍐~

Richie found Eddie during Period 3, standing against the wall in the math hallway, awkwardly crossing and uncrossing his arms. 

"Hey, Kaspbrak!" Richie called and waved as he walked toward him.

Eddie seemed to start a little when he saw Richie. He still wore a tie, but his suit jacket had been shed, and Richie could see faint sweat marks along his collar and under his arms. Although fall was technically ramping up, it was an unusually hot day, and the HVAC system was even less reliable on this side of the third floor. Richie himself — who knew it always got hotter when you started stuffing hundreds of kids into the building — had opted for a t-shirt.

"Didn't expect to see _you_ up here," said Eddie. He crossed and uncrossed his arms once more, settling on keeping them crossed.

"Can't say the same, to be honest," Richie grinned. “How goes it?”

Eddie sighed. “Well, it’s hard to give the freshmen directions when I haven’t even _seen_ —” Eddie gestured violently upwards, then let his hand fall to his side “— like, 80% of the building myself.”

“Yeah, that’s dumb,” said Richie. He found himself thinking fast to find an excuse to keep talking to him. “You don’t teach any freshmen yourself?”

“Not in AP Statistics, no. Stan will have some in his Algebra classes, but since I’m mostly just a para…” He gestured to the hallway at large.

“They have you out here on guard duty instead," Richie finished.

“Yep.”

Before Richie could think of anything else to say, Eddie beat him to it. “By the way,” he said suddenly, “Do you have any tips? For the first day of school, I mean."

Richie raised his eyebrows and scratched his jaw, making a mental note that he needed to shave soon. “You mean anything that Stan hasn’t already told you?”

Actually, Richie did have one strategy that he was pretty proud of.

_Mr. Tozier's Teacher Tip #3: On the first day, when taking attendance, always get the kids to say their names first._

Sure, this strategy was a natural way to get students’ nicknames: not a single year had gone by without Richie teaching a Jacob who went by Jake, or a Madeline who went by Maddy. 

But there was another, more important, benefit: Richie knew he was unlikely to pronounce Zakaiyah or Shehryar or Quynh right the first time, so he avoided that problem by getting the kids to say it first. And once he heard it, he could say it right.

This strategy also helped with the kids whose preferred name wasn’t even the same gender as the one on the attendance sheet. He would never forget the trans boy from his first year of teaching, how happy he looked when Richie asked for his name first, instead of deadnaming him from the attendance roster.

Eddie nodded, eyebrows knitted together in thought. “For the record, Stan hadn’t told me that already.”

Richie gasped dramatically, putting his hand over his heart. But he actually was a little surprised that every teacher hadn’t thought of doing that. It seemed so obvious.

“Glad to be useful.” Richie shrugged modestly. “Honestly, it saves a lot of hassle.”

“It’s fucking brilliant, is what it is.”

_Brilliant?_ Oh. Oh, no. Yep, gonna push that way down. Don't have time for that.

“Yeah, maybe,” Richie coughed, trying to get his hyperactive heart to sit _down_ , dammit. “I guess it’s inspired by my own experiences. I have, like, PTSD from all the name butchering.” He held up an invisible clipboard and adjusted his glasses in imitation of an old person, calling out in a reedy voice, “Mr. ...Toz-ire? Toes-ler?”

Eddie laughed in recognition. “Right!? And try pronouncing _my_ last name without hearing it first.” He started talking faster, with a sudden burst of energy. “I think maybe _one_ teacher ever got it right the first time.”

“Wow, _one_?” said Richie. “Lucky.”

“Yeah, and I’ve always gone by Eddie, so I’d always have to tell them that, too. No one calls me Edward. Not even my mom.”

“Oh, _same_ ,” said Richie emphatically. “Richard is a king of England, not me.”

“ _Exactly!_ ” said Eddie.

They grinned at each other, smiling and shaking their heads. The sheer volume of connection they had built in — what, less than an hour in total, over the past week? Richie couldn’t remember the last time he felt this — 

And then the fucking bell rang. It was immediately followed by shuffling sounds and the exodus of pipsqueak freshmen into the hallway. 

The secretary's voice came over the PA system, as it had been all morning: _“Students, you have 5 minutes to get to your fourth period class. Again, we are now moving into fourth period. Thank you.”_

Richie moved against the wall, next to Eddie, as the river of children flowed by. None of them seemed to be paying attention to either of them, all wrapped up in getting to their next destination, and occasionally finding and clinging to friends like floating logs in the rapids. 

He leaned toward Eddie to be heard over the din, conscious of the peppermint gum he'd chewed earlier, the mintiness still present on his tongue.

“So when is your AP Stat class?”

“Now, actually,” said Eddie, inclining his head slightly towards Richie.

“Period 4? Nice,” said Richie. “The middle of the day, right before lunch...” Although sometimes the kids got hangry, it was a prime spot for planning and grading purposes. In other words, Eddie wouldn’t have to make any copies during lunch. In other words, he could maybe join Richie and others for lunch sometimes. Maybe on Fridays — Stan did say he wanted to make sure Eddie had work friends.

“Sure,” said Eddie, “though I'm planning to eat later in the day. Then, during lunch, I can help any students who still have questions from the lesson.”

“Oh, right, of course...”

Well, there went _that_ plan.

By this point, the river of students had thinned to a trickle; only a few stragglers hurried past, swinging their heads wildly from side to side to check room numbers. None of them asked Richie or Eddie for directions. To be fair, teachers were less approachable in pairs.

The bell rang. _“Students, you should now be in your fourth period class. Again, you should now be in fourth period. Thank you.”_

Richie moved his head back and stood up straight. “Well, uh, I’d better…” He stopped, then started again. “My sixth period might have some freshmen in it, so I should be there just in case any show up,” he finished lamely. Lunch, or Period 5, was skipped during freshman orientation, so he had about ten minutes to get back down to his classroom. 

Though, honestly, he only needed a few minutes to get down there. But he didn’t want to take up any more of Eddie’s time.

“Yeah, Stan has a freshman class during sixth, too,” said Eddie. “Algebra I.”

“One of the ones you'll be taking over?”

Eddie nodded. “Eventually.”

Richie had an idea, one of those ideas that just popped into his head and he had to get it out. They'd saved his ass during many a prep period. 

“Hey, you don’t _have_ to just stand here. You know, go see the kids you’ll be subbing for later!” Richie said, practically shooing Eddie down the hallway. “Not that I’m not enjoying, uh, shooting the breeze with you.”

Eddie looked reluctant to leave his prescribed post. “You don’t think the freshmen need help finding classrooms?”

“Nah,” Richie said, casually waving his hands. “They look panicky, but they figure it out eventually.”

Eddie hummed and nodded. “I guess that _is_ the whole point of this...” He trailed off. “You know what, I will go.” 

“That's the spirit!" Richie called out as Eddie started walking away, straightening his shoulders as he occupied the space where Eddie had been. "If anyone asks, just tell them you got relieved from your post.”

“I feel relieved already,” Eddie called back.

“Ha!” Richie yelled after him as he walked down the hall. “You’re real funny, Kaspbrak!”

Without turning around, Eddie put up his middle finger, then waved.

Richie shook his head and chuckled, but then he heard a small voice from behind him. “Excuse me. How do I get to the gym?” 

Richie turned around to see a tiny freshman girl, looking up at him plaintively.

“Uhhh,” Richie thought for a moment. “Go down those stairs, take a right, then look for the big-ass trophy case across from the cafeteria.”

She scurried off. Well, that was one person helped.

Richie looked both ways to make sure no other freshmen were coming, and sprinted off in the other direction, back to his own classroom.

~🍐~

Richie was dutifully leaning against the door frame outside his classroom when he heard the bell again, which was definitely five times as annoying when it rang five times as frequently as a normal school day.

He mouthed along silently to the announcement: _“Students, you should now be heading to your sixth period class. Again, you should now go to your SIXTH period.”_ She was more insistent this time, to make up for the inevitable confusion at the skipping of Period 5.

The typical rush ensued, but after almost five minutes, the hallway was a ghost town. Richie exhaled and slumped back to his desk, resigning himself to those tabs he had ignored earlier. No freshmen this year, then. So much for growing the program. He knew he should have advertised more to the feeder middle schools. Maybe if he’d sent an email to the guidance counselors —

A voice interrupted his inner postmortem. "Um, are you Mister… uh…”

“Tozier?” Richie looked up and adjusted his glasses. “Yeah, what's up?”

He said this automatically, but then after half a second he realized his mistake. This was a freshman, you idiot. Although she was tall and gangly, there was no mistaking the uncertainty in her voice — well, that and the folded class schedule in her hand.

“Wait, are you here for Theatre I?” Richie asked.

“Yeah. Am I in the right place?”

“Yes, yes, you are,” said Richie quickly, sitting up in his desk chair and motioning for her to sit in a nearby chair. She did. He flipped through the papers on his desk until he found the roster for Period 6. “Uh, what's your name?”

“Victoria Grogan.”

Richie found it. "Any nickname?"

"Uh." Weirdly, she looked surprised by this question. "I actually go by Ria."

Richie nodded, raising his eyebrows. Never would have guessed _that_. Score one for Teacher Tip #3.

"My older sister is Ronnie, short for Veronica, so…" she explained, then trailed off.

"Ah, gotcha. Ronnie and Ria."

Ria pursed her lips awkwardly, one hand resting on the desk, the other one scratching her leg with the folded edge of her schedule. She had a large birthmark on her cheek, which he noticed and then quickly made an effort to look away from. He didn't want to make her feel self-conscious — but he had probably done that already by so obviously tearing his eyes away. Shit.

The bell rang. _"Students, you should now be in your sixth period class,”_ etc.

"Aaaalright," said Richie now in the 'acceptance' stage of this awkward situation. "Looks like you're the only freshman in Theatre I."

Ria's eyes widened a bit, and he tried to reassure her. "That's pretty normal, actually. The guidance counselors usually herd you guys into getting your gym credit out of the way in ninth grade." He shrugged. "So there's not a lot of room for other electives."

"Oh. My parents wanted me to take theatre to, um…"

Richie had already formed a hypothesis about what she was going to say next, but he let her finish.

"...improve my public speaking."

Bingo.

Richie nodded sagely, then used that to segue into his spiel about the class. She listened politely, but he noticed she had major trouble with eye contact. Poor kid.

"Anyway, sorry I don't have something more prepared," said Richie, tapping his fingers on the desk. "Do you have any questions?"

As he expected, she did not.

He looked at the clock. Oh crap, there were still three more minutes.

Luckily, and not for the first time, Bev saved his ass, this time by randomly poking her head in the doorway. Well, maybe 'save' is a strong word.

“Heyyy, Ri— Mr. T," she corrected, since there was a student in the room. "Is this your Period 6?"

"Yep, Ria here is my one freshman." The one freshman looked painfully aware that she was now outnumbered.

"Did you tell her we’re gonna do a musical this year?" said Bev, giving him an eager, open-mouthed smile.

"Of _course_ I did!" said Richie innocently. 

"Awesome. You should totally try out!" called Bev, who gave a thumbs-up, then disappeared back into the hallway like the Ghost of Enthusiasm Present. Bev didn't get to see Ria's eyes widen, like she would rather face her own tombstone than try out for a high school musical.

"Not for you?" Richie inferred.

She shook her head. After a few seconds, she added, "My sister might, though. She's in the chamber choir."

From her tone, Richie suspected that older sister Ronnie did _not_ need to improve her public speaking.

“You know what? Same," said Richie. He rested his chin on his hand. "My older sister got, like, awards for her choir performances, but I can carry a tune and that’s about it.”

She smiled briefly.

"But I'm gonna be honest," he continued, catching her eye. "And I'm not saying this because I don't want you in the class. For instance — because you're tall, you probably get asked if you play sports all the freaking time, right?"

She nodded knowingly.

"But guess what," he continued, "it's good to be tall if you're acting, too — helps you avoid the spittle from the other actors. Ask me how I know."

She smiled for real this time, stifling a laugh.

"However." He put his palms on the desk for emphasis, finally getting to his main point. "It seems like your parents are making you take this class, which sucks. So if you want, I can tell your counselor that my class was full, or I suddenly don't want freshmen or something, if you want to transfer into an elective you actually _want_ to take."

She heaved a sigh. He waited patiently. 

"No, it's okay," she finally said. The smile flickered on again. Maybe she'd reached the acceptance stage, too. Still couldn't look him in the eye for more than a second, though.

But he could work with that.

_Mr. Tozier's Teacher Tip #4: Establishing a connection with a student early on goes a long way._

**~** 🍐 **~**

That afternoon, the freshmen were gone, and Richie was actually in a good mood, so he decided to start the fun part of classroom setup: hanging up the posters in his room. 

He’d gathered a number of them over the years, and liked to switch them up to keep it interesting, but right outside the classroom door was reserved for his favorite one. It was one of those “Hang in There!” cat posters that all the students thought was ironic, but deep down he loved it unironically — a secret that would go with him to his grave.

“Wow, great poster,” he heard a sardonic voice say from behind him.

No, it wasn’t his imagination: Eddie Kaspbrak was standing in front of him, with a Hydro Flask and one raised eyebrow.

Richie stared at him, utterly bewildered. “It’s ironic,” he said. His brain buzzed with error messages. Uhhhhhh.

Eddie smiled. “Yeah, sure it is.” UHHHHHHH. 

When Richie didn’t respond, Eddie continued. “So I meant to ask — what are the other two Mr. Tozier’s Teacher Tips?”

“What?”

“You said ‘Tip #3’ earlier. Ergo, there must be at least a couple others.”

“Good work, number man.” Richie defaulted to sarcasm; mentally, he was still reeling from the fact that Eddie had apparently sought him out? Why else would he be down here?

“I’m just trying to be an effective teacher, asshole,” Eddie bit back. “I need all the help I can get.”

Richie knew the feeling.

“Okay, I’ll tell you.” He paused, then grinned widely. “They're actually on this _biiiiig_ sign, right next to the pool on the roof.”

Eddie’s eyebrows flattened in exasperation. “Alright, then, keep your secrets,” he huffed.

Richie chuckled, then stopped. “Wait, was that a _Lord of the Rings_ reference?”

A smile broke Eddie’s neutral expression, and a syrupy grin started spreading across his face. 

“Okay, hold on —” Richie started chuckling. Eddie rolled his eyes, probably predicting what was coming. “— exactly how much of a _Lord of the Rings_ nerd are you?”

By this point, Eddie was outright smirking. “Let’s just say I lost friends in high school over debates on Tolkien vs. Lewis,” said Eddie. “And I’d do it again.” He crossed his arms, like he was ready to debate Richie himself, right here, right now.

No need, of course. Like Eddie, Richie was fondly attached to the famed trilogy. It was just happy luck that the movies did so well that they made their way into popular culture, and many of his students actually got it when he dropped a reference or two during a lesson.

“Nice,” said Richie. “Do you have all the extended editions?”

“Obviously,” Eddie scoffed. “And I’ve read _The Silmarillion_ , too, thank you very much.”

“Wooow, you’re like an upper-tier nerd. Like, a private-balcony-suite nerd.”

Eddie frowned, his lip stuck out a little. But he didn’t seem mad: his eyes glinted with stubborn fervor. “It was a formative period of my life, okay?”

“Hey, I’m not knocking you, man! I love those movies,” Richie teased.

Eddie huffed, the embers in his eyes a bit cooler. “They’re books, too, you know, Mr. English Teacher.”

“I’m _aware_ , Mr. Math Teacher. But unlike Bill, Mike and Ben, I don’t jack off to the smell of old books or anything.”

“Gross.” But a quirk in Eddie’s lip suggested he was laughing on the inside. Richie decided not to push it too far, though. There was no guarantee he could get a repeat of their first conversation, get a full laugh out of him. That had probably just been lightning in a bottle.

As if on cue, the PA system blared once again. 

_"Attention, all new staff members. The new staff luncheon is starting now in Room 129. Again, the new staff lunch is starting now in Room 129."_

Eddie gestured awkwardly down the hall. "I'm going to that, actually."

Ah, of course. Now it made sense. Richie's classroom was simply on the way to the new staff luncheon, and Eddie had just happened to be walking by.

Richie put his hands in his pockets nonchalantly. "Lucky! I heard they splurged and got both cheese _and_ pepperoni this year," said Richie.

"Ha. You think they'll let me take one of each?"

“Only one way to find out.”

Eddie gave him an awkward wave. “Well, see you ‘round, Richie.”

Richie went back to hanging up his posters, but he wasn’t really paying attention. (He had to readjust the Lorraine Hansbury poster, like, five times.) He kept thinking about what he had told Eddie. 

True, Richie liked _Lord of the Rings_ , and he had read every published word of Vonnegut, but he didn’t necessarily like books better than movies. Or plays. Or even video games. He just liked stories, in any form. 

_Including_ , he thought ruefully as he peeled the last piece of tape off the roll, _the stories I tell myself_.

**~** 🍐 **~**

And so the first day of school arrived, and the students returned to Pear Grove, borne back ceaselessly into the building where many more doors were open to them than they realized, and many more were closed to them than they deserved.

Although most people referred to Richie as the “theatre teacher,” most of his day was spent teaching English 11. Not AP, not Honors, just... English 11. And in this school system, regular meant remedial. These kids were the bottom of the barrel on all the statistical measurements that schools cared about, and the tragic part is that, by junior year, these kids were now old enough to either A) realize the larger implications of that fact, and become embittered or B) _not_ realize the larger implications of that fact, and continue the shenanigans that they should have left behind in middle school.

Too many of these kids had an Oscar-worthy tragedy of a life story, one that every rich Hollywood producer would suck a dick to get the filming rights for. But at the same time, they were also just a bunch of dumbass kids who wouldn't take out their goddamn earbuds. They were walking contradictions. It was actually kind of funny. No, it was fucking hilarious. And, at the same time, so incredibly sad that Richie couldn’t think about the whole system for too long without getting depressed. 

All in all, it’s just another brick in the wall, and all that.

Richie could sort of sympathize. He hadn't exactly been a straight-A student in high school. Or in college. Honestly, that's probably why they gave him the 'low' kids. He would be able to 'relate' to them more. If by 'relate to,' they meant 'play pro bono therapist,' then yeah, he did alright. 

He wasn’t sure if he was considered more approachable than usual by students, but even as early as the first day, he found himself privy to aspects of the private lives of his students that only their close friends would know otherwise.

In fourth period, one student named Teresa pulled him aside during an independent work activity.

“Mr. T, I just want to let you know that I’d like to go by a different last name,” she said. With her thick brows and pale face, she reminded Richie of a classical statue, solemn yet confident.

Richie lowered his voice to match hers. “Of course, no problem.”

After taking a quick breath, Teresa continued. "My parents are divorced," she said. “So I’m using my mom’s last name. We just haven’t gotten the paperwork done yet.”

“Yeah, that can take a while, I’ve heard. Sorry it’s not on the school roster already.”

“It’s okay. I’m just glad you didn’t say it out loud so I’d have to hear it again,” she added.

Damn, maybe Teacher Tip #3 should get a raise.

“Of course,” said Richie, reaching for a pen and the class roster that doubled as his first-week attendance sheet. “So what’s your mom’s last name?”

"Dayton,” she said promptly.

"Gotcha." He clicked his pen. "As in Ohio?"

"Yeah.”

"Ever been?" 

Just a trace of an eyeroll. "No. And not the Daytona 500, either."

Huh, this kid came prepared. Usually students just laughed or looked confused when he made a quip like that, especially on the first day.

Richie smiled and wrote down the new name, crossing out the old one. "Not a fan of race cars, then?"

"I like _real_ sports, like lacrosse," she said. 

Richie smiled to himself. He supposed he didn't have a right to say what counted as a real sport, so he kept quiet. But it jogged his memory.

"Oh, do you play for Pear Grove?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm hoping to be on varsity this year."

"Well, if you are, I'll be on chaperone duty for one of your games in March," he said.

Her face brightened suddenly. “Oh, bet!” She actually looked — excited? He’d never had a non-theatre kid seem excited at seeing him outside of normal school hours. And, as it turned out, Teresa raised her hand to participate every day for the rest of the week.

Huh. Teacher Tip #4 was no slouch, either. Maybe he _should_ write those down.

**~** 🍐 **~**

And while Richie tried to get to know each student, and every year he was surprised at the speed at which he memorized their names and faces, he couldn’t replicate a Teresa or Ria conversation with all of them. There were over a hundred of them, after all.

As he’d learned, though, every class had its own distinct personality, and before the end of the first week of school, Richie had categorized them as such. This was his daily schedule:

**Period 1: Theatre II, or The Cool Class**

Composed of a small number of hardcore drama kids. Richie’s favorite (don’t tell the others) and probably the main reason he found the strength to get out of bed in the morning.

**Period 2: Planning** , **or Frantically Make Copies for English 11**

If he didn’t need to make copies for some reason, his most productive period of the day in terms of grading, answering emails, etc.

**Period 3** : **English 11, or The "Special" Class**

Most of these children needed serious help — academically, socially, and emotionally. Just... _how?_ He saw the sparkles of a few hidden gems, but wasn’t sure if he’d be able to dig them out.

**Period 4: English 11, or The Smart Class**

It was all relative, of course, but he actually had something approaching an intellectual conversation with them during the first week. Also the smallest class. _Not_ a coincidence.

**Period 5** : **Lunch, Sometimes??**

Theoretically, 35 glorious minutes of free time. Usually, 30 minutes of fighting with the copier for the theatre classes and 5 minutes to wolf down lunch. Or 15 minutes of solving student crises and 15 minutes of solving student crises with a sandwich in his mouth. Or 10 minutes of ‘lunch plus rant with Bill’ after 25 minutes of a ‘I-promise-this-will-be-short’ meeting. Hopefully fewer of those this year with Bill in charge.

**Period 6:** **Theatre I, or The Weird Class**

An unorthodox mix of Richie's former English 11 kids and geeky underclassmen. While it was never boring, it was almost as exhausting as The “Special” Class.

**Period 7: Planning, or Head-Desk**

In which Richie attempted to grade papers, but mostly he mentally prepared himself for the last class of the day.

**Period 8:** **English 11, or The Inferno**

The loudest class of the day — and the largest. All of these traits coinciding was _not_ a coincidence. Richie took it as a personal affront to him by the scheduling system. So did the two or three quiet children. Richie always felt sorry for them.

So that would be his sixth year of teaching, cut neatly into 45-minute slices that he must eat through like so many Homer Simpson hell-donuts until the middle of June.

He wondered how many he had left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you don’t get the [final reference](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LtEFEdrrXc4).


	3. Late September

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off — hi! I'm not dead! I've just been busy because I am, in fact, a teacher in real life, and virtual school is super weird and takes up a lot of my brain space. Today, though, I had a bit of extra time and I thought, hell, why not polish up this chapter? It's been a real stumbling block for me (and there's no Eddie - sorry in advance!) but I just wanted to finish it and get it out there.
> 
> I had fun putting in a few allusions and foreshadowing for which musical our characters decide to produce.
> 
> Also, thanks to anyone who has commented — this is the first real long-form fic I’m posting here and your comments make my day when you post them and every day thereafter that I reread them! <3

On the twenty-first day of the month of September, on a Friday not too long after the end of the school day, Richie suddenly encountered a threat to his very existence, and this terrifying enemy surfaced — as such threats often do — in the seemingly most innocent and unlikely of places.

In Richie’s case, a Dunkin’ Donuts.

Bev _said_ she wanted to grab a coffee. She _said_ Ben had a parent-teacher conference, so she had to ‘kill time to wait for him anyway.’

But as soon as he and Bev walked in the door, there was Janya, the choir teacher, also waiting in line. She waved to them. Richie felt like he would barf. 

(Not because of Janya, of course, but because he’d been thoroughly fucking snookered.)

And now Richie was sitting at a linoleum high top table, clutching a paper coffee cup, scrunched into a corner, having a conversation he thought he wouldn’t have to have until, like, _November_ at least.

A conversation about _the musical_.

As Bev began their little soirée with a mission statement, Richie glanced over at Janya, the other potentially guilty party in this premeditated strike against him.

He honestly didn’t know much about Janya Kay McCall, except that she taught choir, her son Arjun was a sophomore at Pear Grove, and that, by all accounts, she was a good teacher. Well, once he'd heard a student complain that they had trouble understanding her accent, but he shut that shit down right away. “We have trouble understanding _you guys_ sometimes, with all your new slang, ‘lit’ this and ‘bop’ that,” he had added. “Just make a damn effort.”

Thinking about accents reminded him of something he couldn't quite place, but he was about to dredge it up when he noticed Bev had said his name.

"So, what do you think, Richie?"

Bev was looking at him expectantly. Her bright orange hair matched perfectly with the deep pink wallpaper behind her. Dunkin' Donuts colors. 

Tinny pop music filtered through the speakers. Richie's brain fizzed, trying to figure out what to say.

Luckily, Janya seemed to take pity on him. "Well, no matter _what musical_ we decide to do," she said, giving Richie the smallest of glances, "I'm really excited." She smiled and folded her hands together, bracelets jangling. "I should tell you,” she continued, “I have no experience whatsoever in teaching students to sing specifically for a musical, but I am willing to learn.”

“That’s awesome," said Bev, gratefully. "We’re all in the same boat, so this will be a learning process for all of us.”

“Actually,” said Janya, pulling out her phone and tapping at it, “I already ordered this book about it?” She showed them the confirmation email: the book was called _Singing in Musical Theatre: The Training of_ something-or-other. Richie only glanced at it briefly and nodded.

“What a great find!” Bev cooed.

“Yes, it got good reviews, so I hope it will be helpful,” said Janya, laughing cheerfully.

Richie sat there, picking at the little doodad on the plastic lid of his cup. He felt like a kid who hadn’t done his homework the night before.

“Would you like to borrow it, Richie?” Janya asked kindly.

“Uhh, no I’m okay,” he said. He turned to Bev. Might as well get this over with as quickly as possible, so he could go home and watch Netflix.

"So," he said, then cleared his throat. "Uh, what musical were you thinking of doing, Bev?”

“Actually, I was hoping _you_ had some ideas," she said. "You’re the expert.”

Richie bristled. He’d been in a few musicals in high school, but that wasn't exactly a unique qualification. 

“Expert? Hardly."

“Richie, you’re the theatre teacher,” said Bev, the barest hint of frustration in her voice. "Musicals are theatre."

“They’re a whole different ball game, Bev!”

He hadn't meant for that to come out so forcefully. Or maybe he had. 

Richie sighed, trying to summarize the doubts and concerns he’d had with the whole idea since last June. 

“Look," he said. "If you have a musical, and you want it _not_ to be a laughingstock? You gotta have kids who can actually _sing_ .” He knew this from experience. “Even if they’re good at singing, but only _okay_ at acting,” Richie added, rotating his hand for emphasis, “that’s a lot better than the other way around.”

“Yeah, as long as they can sing, Richie will whip ‘em into shape,” said Bev brightly.

“Hey, well, no promises,” Richie countered quickly. “And there’s no guarantee how many of the students in my theatre classes can actually sing.”

“So we pick a musical with a small minimum cast, like usual,” said Bev, altogether too breezily.

“Yes, but — what I mean is, we’ll have to work with what we have.” Richie nodded at Janya. “Basically, what _you_ have. How many of your choir students do you think would be ready and willing to commit to a spring musical?”

To Richie's surprise, Janya nodded. "Actually," she said, "I did float the idea to my advanced students this week. There were a number of them who were interested."

“Okay, what number?"

“Ahh,” she said, glancing upward to remember. “About four or five in the chamber choir, plus a couple more in the lower-level classes.”

That was… _not_ that many kids. Bev bit her lip. 

But at the mention of “chamber choir,” Richie remembered his conversation with Ria, the solitary (in more ways than one) freshman in his Theatre I class. Maybe her sister was one of the interested students.

But still. Combined with his Theatre II class, that was still only about a dozen kids. And some of them definitely could _NOT_ sing, so they’d end up working tech or makeup anyway.

The bar was low, but he still wasn’t sure if they even had a leg to stand on. _Way to mix metaphors, Tozier._

“Well,” said Bev, still hopeful. “What kind of choir kids were interested? Like age, gender, that kind of stuff.”

Richie took an already defeated swig of coffee as Janya thought. “Well, more girls than boys. Will that be an issue?” she said.

Richie grunted knowingly, while Bev explained that phenomenon was pretty normal. They could always have kids cross-dress if necessary. Theatre kids tended to be more okay with that, anyway. 

Richie couldn’t argue with that. This bar-stool was very wobbly but still standing.

“You know what I’m most excited about? I have a group of upperclassmen girls who have _really_ strong voices,” said Janya. “And they sing well together, too.” Her voice seemed to become more confident. Good thing, too, since she actually had kind of a big role in this. It would probably end up being larger than Richie’s, actually.

Bev’s eyes lit up. “That sounds great!” she said. 

Richie could see the two of them weaving together a potential cast in their minds. But they were still missing the most important thread: what _musical_ could they actually pull off with less than a dozen kids?

“Yes,” said Janya, laughing, “I joke to them that they should start their own girl group, like The Supremes.”

Maybe the coffee had just started to kick in, but Janya’s comment jolted a sudden memory into the front of Richie’s mind. A memory of New York City, a few years ago. A knockoff yet thrilling off-Broadway encore production he’d somehow managed to score tickets to, courtesy of a friend of a friend. Richie wasn’t sure what the biggest deal had been: that Ellen Greene was reprising her original role, or that Jake Gyllenhaal (yes, _that_ Jake Gyllenhaal) was there, playing the lead in —

“Little Shop.”

Bev and Janya turned to look at him.

“Little Shop of Horrors,” Richie repeated. When Janya raised her eyebrows suspiciously, and Bev’s face looked blank, he half-sang a bit of the titular song, snapping his fingers to keep time.

“It’s not, like, scary — well, it does have a plant that eats people. Including the main characters," he said.

Janya’s eyebrows stayed elevated, but Bev opened her mouth in recognition. “Oh, riiiight, that sounds familiar. Wasn’t there a movie?”

Richie rolled his eyes. “Uh, yeah, but the play is more famo—”

“Yeah, it had that guy in it who kinda looks like you,” said Bev. “I forget his name… He was in all those 80s movies?”

Richie was scandalized. “Rick Moranis?”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

_"You think I look like Rick Moranis?”_

Bev burst out laughing, a ringing chortle that caused some dude in a baseball cap to glance over at their table. But Richie was laughing, too. The tension he felt earlier was gone, replaced by the strangest feeling. His heart was pounding and his right leg had started bouncing up and down of its own accord, but he didn’t feel nervous. He was… excited? 

Janya, the poor woman, was still confused, so Richie gave her a quick summary of the plot of _Little Shop_ , while Bev, between chuckles, looked up a photo of Rick Moranis on her phone.

After studying the photo (“Oh, he’s the dad who shrunk the kids!”), Janya admitted the similarity. “It’s mostly the glasses,” she said helpfully.

“Oh, great!” Richie comically threw his hands up, and this time Janya laughed, too.

“Anyway,” said Bev, after catching her breath and wiping her eyes. “So. _Little Shop of Horrors_?”

Richie, still seated, tossed his empty coffee cup into the nearby trash can, leaned in, then began to explain his reasoning. The narrators and unsung centerpieces of _Little Shop_ were the street urchins, or do-wop girls: Crystal, Ronnette, and Chiffon — a trio of women, named and modeled after Motown girl groups, who essentially served as the show’s Greek chorus. Janya’s chamber choir girls would be perfect for those roles.

And the more Richie talked about it, the more the musical seemed like a safe choice considering their situation. 

“Most importantly, it’s a small cast,” he said. “And _Little Shop_ would be familiar to some people, but it’s not too overdone or old-fashioned, like _Hello, Dolly!_ or something,” he said. “You’ll get people in seats.”

“Sounds like a perfect fit!” said Janya.

Of course, as soon as she said that, Richie remembered the most difficult part of this particular musical. Crap.

“But also,” he said, sighing and spreading his hands on the small corner table. “There’s one big difficulty: the plant. The one that eats people.” He continued, trying not to sound _too_ pessimistic and failing. “It's a _monster_ prop. Literally. It’s like ten feet tall. And it can't look like crap because it’s the — ” he waved his hand in frustration, trying to come up with the word “ — conceit of the whole play.” 

But Bev's eyes flashed immediately. “Oh, I can get Ben to help with that!” She leaned over to Janya. “My husband usually helps out a bit with building the sets anyway, and I think he could handle it.”

Richie brought up a few other potential pitfalls, but Bev was revved and ready, and Janya filled in the rest. Still, by the end of the conversation, the caffeine wore off, and Richie’s worries still poked at him like a thorn on a rose. 

When they got up to leave, Janya patted his shoulder and told him they could sleep on it and decide next week, which, to be honest, immediately ingratiated her to Richie more than the lending of a book ever could.

That night, though, as Richie lay sprawled on his couch watching _Crazy Ex-Girlfriend_ — in a half-hearted attempt to get in the mood for musicals, he supposed — he felt his phone buzz from underneath his leg. Bev had texted him.

💬 _Richie we HAVE to do little shop!! I just listened to the soundtrack and I love it already_

Well, this was the decision point. He could say okay, and deal with the thorns. 

Or (and this would be easier) he could just pull it out and throw away the rose altogether.

 _Or_ , said a rapid voice in his head, _you could just fucking put on some gardening gloves._

Okay. Fine. He would do it. But mostly for Bev. She was a good friend, and he probably owed her anyway.

💬 _Ok_ , he replied. _Let’s do it._

Only a few minutes later, he got another notification. Bev had started a group chat with him, Janya, and Ben, sending an inaugural message with multiple exclamation points.

Well, they had a group chat. It really was official, then. He sighed and typed 'request licensing for LSOH' onto his to-do list app.

Although they weren’t even going to hold auditions until January, he could already feel the _sturm_ and _drang_ in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you want to listen along with Bev, here’s the soundtrack to Little Shop of Horrors: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m4ADCCr_N4s&list=PL6r-EXKi1YzM6m_Bq3XsH2AGtxFnq06os
> 
> Specifically, it’s the 2003 Broadway Revival Cast Recording, because that’s the one I listened to when I worked tech for the show back in high school — and have been listening to ever since. :)
> 
> Also, the musical theatre book is real, but I have never read it (I just found it online) so I cannot speak to its actual quality. *shrugs*


End file.
